


The Truth in the Blood

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Series: The Bones AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bones AU, EnjonineWeek, EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, Original Character(s), day 4: mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: Special Agent Eponine Thenardier has been working with forensic anthropologist, Dr. Lucien Enjolras, and his team at the Lamarquian Institute to identify victims of crimes when they are no longer identifiable and to catch their killers.When a set of remains is found underground at the edge of a cemetery during construction, Enjolras comes across some unsettling information involving his past. Working with Eponine, new information comes to light, and as things unravel he finds answers to the questions he's had for years.





	The Truth in the Blood

“What do you mean I can’t have a gun?”

Eponine rolls her eyes as she passes Enjolras the denied form back. “You were charged with a felony, and because of that, for these investigations, you are not allowed to have a gun.”

“Charged, not convicted, and may I remind you that _you_ are the one who charged me?”

“You shot an unarmed man.”

“He was going to destroy crucial evidence in an open murder case.”

“Still can’t have a gun,” Eponine says, shaking her head and folding her arms across her chest as she leans back into the chair.

Enjolras sighs. “What if you’re incapacitated during an investigation, shot and/or killed?”

“You can’t have a gun, end of discussion.”

Special Agent Eponine Thenardier has been working with forensic anthropologist, Dr. Lucien Enjolras, and his team at the Lamarquian Institute to identify victims of crimes when they are no longer identifiable and to catch their killers. The relationship has spanned over a couple of years, and what feels to her have been hundreds of cases, though a more accurate amount would be several dozens. If she asked Enjolras, he’d probably give her an exact number.

Enjolras has woven himself in to her field operations while working on cases with her, speaking with victims’ families, assisting in interrogations, and even helping her physically chase down their suspects and murderers. While she admits he’s saved her in tight situations multiple times, she’s almost just as much, if not more, has saved him from life-threatening situations as well.

He opens his mouth to continue his argument, when her phone goes off and she answers. A brief conversation with one of her colleagues follows. When she hangs up, he looks at her expectantly.

“A set of remains was found just outside the city while some construction workers were replacing pipes,” she tells him. “They’re bringing them to the lab as we speak.”

He gets to his feet, his eyes wide. “They’re moving them without having me go to the scene? I should be there, make sure nothing gets left behind, and I don’t want the remains to be compromised.”

She stands to grab her coat, Enjolras halfway out the door. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac were on the scene; I’m sure they gathered all they needed.”

“Caucasian female, approximately late thirties/early forties. Some remodeling on the left radius and ulnar, a healed injury of about four years old at the time of death,” Enjolras states, going over the remains. He picks up the skull, peering at it closely as he rotates it around in his hands. “There appears to be a slight indentation towards the back of the skull. Might be cause of death, should be able to find something definitive once the bones are cleaned.”

“How long do you think she was there?” Eponine asks, walking towards a small tray of items containing items that were found with the remains. A small medal of some kind, an oval-shaped locket, and a leaf-shaped hair clip.

Enjolras sets down the skull. “Based on how much of her is left and the state of personal defects, I would put her death around seven to ten years. Joly and Courfeyrac might be able to come up with a more precise timing-wise using the soil samples collected around her. Once Prouvaire finishes with marking her facial features and Feuilly finishes his facial reconstruction, we should be able to run an I.D., see if anything matches.”

When Feuilly announces he’s finished the facial reconstruction, Enjolras, Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre follow him into his office, and the four gather around the projection stand as Feuilly gets everything set up. The digital image comes to life, and as Enjolras stands across from her, Eponine notices his face turn pale.

“Try changing the hair to a light chestnut color, about shoulder length,” Enjolras suggests, and there’s something about the way he says it that concerns Eponine.

Feuilly goes over to his computer and makes the changes. The image refreshes, and Enjolras shakes his head.

“Are you sure this is correct?” he asks.

Feuilly glances up from the computer. “Based on the indicators Prouvaire marked, yes.”

“No…it can’t be…” he murmurs, than turns and rushes out the door back towards the lab table.

Eponine turns her head, looking at the others’ reactions to Enjolras’ departure. Courfeyrac and Feuilly appear to be confused, unsure of what triggered Enjolras’ unusual response, while Combeferre seems to be in deep, critical thought.

After a few moments, Combeferre voices his thoughts aloud. “We may have identified Marianne Enjolras as the victim…His mother.”

And there, Enjolras’ reaction clicks.

Eponine approaches Enjolras, staring at the tray of personal belongings found with the remains. He’s shaking his head, trying to take deep breaths, though all Eponine can hear is wavering exhales.

“The healed breaks on the radius and ulnar, those were from a biking accident she had when I was fourteen,” he admits, and a tear streaks down his face. “The medal, I got for coming in first place at the school’s science fair for researching bone anomalies in the frogs used for dissection, and for years, I’ve wondered what happened to it. The locket, if any images can be made from it open, you’d probably see my parents’ wedding photo accompanied by an image of my sister and I when we were five. The hair clip, looks like my sister’s; it was one of her favorites. Both have…had…a love for gardening.”

Her eyes flicker to the tray, then back to Enjolras. “I’m sorry things turned out this way. I know you’ve been searching for your parents for awhile.”

He turns his head to look up at her. “Thank you.”

The two of them remain still for a few moments, looking at the small tray of items. Wherever Marianne had gone, whatever she had done, she made sure she had reminders of the family she left behind, items she carried with her for the two years she was gone prior to her death. Her family was important to her; she didn’t need Enjolras to say anything to know that to be true.

There’s also the matter of his father’s whereabouts, still unknown. If whoever had killed Marianne had killed Raymond Enjolras as well, it would make sense for the bodies to be buried with if not near each other. But Marianne was buried on the side of the road near a cemetery, where whoever buried her wouldn’t have known she’d be unintentionally dug up in the midst of construction ten years later.

If she breached the question to Enjolras if his father would have killed his mother, she knew his response would unleash an anger and disbelief that was underlying the grief under the usually-stone-faced man crumbling before her. Statistically speaking, the possibility of Raymond killing Marianne was high, but as Enjolras would say, they didn’t have all the facts.

“Would you like me to contact Annie for you? See if I can get her here?” Eponine suggests, looking into Enjolras red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sure she’d like to know what you’ve found.”

He turns away, looking towards his mother’s remains then to the tray of objects, and back to her. “She doesn’t need to see this, but I’m sure she would like to know.”

Eponine nods, then gives Enjolras a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “We’ll find out who did this, one way or another.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears.

She turns to leave, already taking out her cell phone to make a few calls.

The next morning, Eponine finds herself standing outside the door of Annette Enjolras’ studio apartment, from behind which she hears music faintly playing. After she knocks, the music stops, and within the next ten seconds, the door opens.

Eponine has never met any family members belonging to her partner, but going off Enjolras’ appearance, she can conclude the person in front of her is indeed his sister. The same blond hair and dark, stone-blue eyes, similar facial features; both, as Enjolras had once described, favored their father’s side, Enjolras maintaining a similar rigid structure only softened by his mother’s characteristics, and while Annie did have the deeper-set eyes of her father, her slender face resembled much of that of her mother.

“Annette Enjolras, I’m Special Agent Eponine Thenardier. I work with your brother Lucien,” she starts, then pauses for a breath. “We recently uncovered some new information on your mother.”

“Our mother…?” Annie’s eyes go wide, then takes a deep breath as she steps back and nods. “Please, come in.”

Eponine enters, and Annie closes and locks the door behind her. The room is filled with paintings and blank canvases, some leaning against walls while others laid across the kitchenette counter and sat in the pair of reclining chairs in the living area. A few small potted plants sit on the windowsill next to the bed, and another larger plant by the door.

“Tea? Coffee?” Annette offers from the kitchenette.

“No thank you,” answers Eponine, sitting down at the table where Annie gestures for her to sit, and she sits down across from her.

“So, did you find her?” Annie asks, her appearance already crestfallen, as if she already knows.

“Yes, we did,” Eponine replies. “Her remains were uncovered just outside the city where they were changing and repairing pipes. Your brother was able to confirm the I.D.”

The blonde nods, her breath shaking. “I figured she was dead, after all this time. Mom and Dad weren’t known to just disappear. Did you find him, too?”

“No, only your mother’s remains have been found. Your brother was able to date her death about ten years ago, approximately two years after they both disappeared.”

“I see…He didn’t do it, though. Our father loved her too much for that,” Annette says, a small, grief-filled smile appearing for a sole moment. “Someone else killed her.”

“Any idea who?”

Annie’s eyes flicker to the floor, then towards Eponine, but staring past her. “I don’t…I don’t know who.”

A pause.

“Lucien and I, we used to be so close, our parents considered us ‘partners in crime,’ one of us covering for the other when we did something wrong,” Annette says, her eyes glancing at the ceiling, a reminiscent smile on her face. “When we were sixteen, after our parents left and we lived with our aunt and uncle, that, that all changed. He shut out everyone, me, any friends he had at the time…He went from being the most sociable, well-liked person in school to an outcast in less than a week. Every counselor and psychiatrist our uncle took him to said it was a way of processing grief, but he never quite grew out of it, and while some would say a part of it was due to the brain injury he sustained in a car accident when we were five, six years old, but I couldn’t buy it, there was no way.

“Every year, on our birthday, I try calling him, to speak with him, but he never answers, never responds to the voicemails I leave. It’s as if he blames me for all of it.” A tear streaks her face. “I don’t know if he does or why, but knowing how we used to be…I don’t understand…”

Eponine reaches across the table and placing her hand over hers. “I’ll talk to him, alright?”

Annie nods.

Eponine pulls her hand away and reaches into her pocket, pulling out her contact card and setting it on the table. “If you need anything and remember something later you don’t now, call me. We’re investigating your mother’s death to our fullest capabilities, and any information you might have could bring us one step closer to who did this and why. Let me know if you want to visit the Institute; I’ll accompany you.”

Annie takes the card, studying it for a moment before setting it to the side. “Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.”

Eponine smiles in return.

“You did what?” Enjolras says as he goes over the cleaned remains in the examination room, Eponine standing by, holding on to his parents’ files.

“I told her I would talk to you about your past behavior.”

“My past behavior has no relevance to the case, Thenardier, just as much as your past in the Armed Forces, your family’s gang-related history, and your past alcoholism have any relevance.”

“The difference between you and I is that I, for the most part, have overcome those challenges,” she says, standing firm, arms crossed against her chest. “You have not, you still shut her out for nothing that was her fault. And who told you of the alcoholism?”

“Gavroche isn’t as secretive as you think he is,” Enjolras answers, studying the healed breaks on the left forearm. “I felt abandoned, how else was I supposed to react?”

“Empathetic, maybe? Perhaps communicate a bit?”

“I behaved in what I believed at the time I was appropriate; it isn’t my fault I don’t talk to them anymore.”

“I know she calls you once a year; she’s trying to, and you’re still closing her off,” Eponine says, irritated. She takes a deep breath. “Your family’s car was located at an impound not far from here. Your sister will be coming in when it arrives to be searched for traces of evidence. I also found some things to discuss with the both of you, and I’d rather share the information with you at the same time.”

Enjolras pauses, eyes glaring. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did, and she deserves to know as much about this case as you.”

He scoffs, then turns his attention to the skull. As he looks underneath, something catches his attention and he pulls out a small light to look inside the skull, his eyes narrowed. He then turns the skull back over, his fingers tracing the indentation when Prouvaire walks into the room. Enjolras beckons him over, and shows him the interior of the skull.

“Subdural hematoma,” Enjolras says. “Likely the cause of death.”

“I agree, but the indention in the skull is mostly healed,” Prouvaire replies, eyebrows furrowed. “And with it being healed as it is, I couldn’t get a proper shape of what might have caused it. A part of me thinks a tire iron, but the shape is too small.”

“Which means the victim was likely alive for some time before she died as the bleeding slowly occurred; about a year,” Enjolras concludes, setting the skull down.

“I’ll take a look at using microscopic imaging, see if we can get an approximate shape based on the patterns of healing.”

“Good idea,” Enjolras answers with a nod. “Thank you, Prouvaire.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Enjolras,” he replies, then takes the skull away.

Eponine’s phone goes off, signaling the arrival of the family’s car.

Enjolras circles the car, peering at the interior where blood stains the headrests on both sides. Samples were already taken to be tested, to see if there’s matches Marianne and Raymond Enjolras. Then there’s the rusted exterior, a bumper sticker on the back of the car he had stated showed the school he and Annette went to, only for the name to be scratched out.

When Annette arrives, Eponine notes the cold stare Enjolras gives her, then turns to avoid looking at her. Annie rolls her eyes, then gestures with her arms as if to show this was normal. Eponine gives Enjolras a sharp tug on his arm to turn him around.

“Stop,” she hisses. “At this point, it doesn’t matter who did what. Let it go. This is about finding out what happened to your parents, not about any unseen conflicts you two had.”

Enjolras scoffs.

“Hello, Lucien,” Annette says with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Mhm,” Enjolras replies, tightening his jaw and folding his arms across his chest.

Eponine lets a few seconds pass before she greets Annette, seeing if Enjolras attempts anything that would be considered even a single stitch in repairing the siblings’ damaged relationship, but all she gets is a glare from him.

“This is unnecessary, Thenardier,” he says. “She doesn’t need to be here.”

“I’m here because Agent Thenardier asked me to be here,” Annette says, approaching her brother and staring him down. “My presence is not here for your account, I promise you that.”

“Alright then,” Eponine says, then raises her voice to everyone else in the examination garage. “Everyone, take five. Go grab a coffee or something. Need a bit of privacy, please.”

She receives a few confused looks and hears a few objective murmurs, but they all leave. Eponine then sets down the files she’d been carrying all day, and opens them.

“The missing persons’ files?” Enjolras asks, leaning over to read them. “I’ve been over these multiple times; nothing new.”

“Not quite.” Eponine takes a deep breath. “You see, I went back through the records. Traced back until you two were about five years old, only to discover there were no records of them before that time. Either of you know why?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Usually that happens in cases of stolen identities, but our parents would have never had reason to do anything like that; they were good people.”

Annette swallows, her gaze flickering to the floor.

“Do you know something, Annette?” Eponine asks, setting another pair of files on top of the existing ones. “You’d both be old enough to remember.”

“I don’t remember anything before I was five. The accident, any memories I should have from before then, I don’t,” Enjolras reminds her, then turns to Annette, who appears shaken. “Annette?”

Annette takes a deep breath, her exhale wavering, and then nods. “I…I don’t know…I don’t know why…”

“Let me continue then,” Eponine says, her voice harsh, then gestures to the files she’d set on top. “I did some further digging, only, I found out your parents are not who you thought they were. I searched for records of people who vanished around the time they appeared, and do you know what I found?”

Eponine opens the files, revealing mug shots of people who match their parents’ faces, but not their names. “Anya and Michel Fortier, who were known for working with a dangerous crew and robbing banks. Small jobs, such as breaking into safety deposit boxes is what they did. Sound familiar at all?”

Enjolras’ eyes go wide and his face turns white. He then turns to Annette. “I’m not…We’re not who we said we are. Annette, what are our real names? What is my real name? Who am I?”

Annette closes her eyes, taking a few breaths before responding. “My real name is Millicent Fortier. Yours is Gabriel, Gabriel Fortier.”

Enjolras takes a few steps back, shaking his head in denial as he sits down on the floor. He stares at the concrete.

“Before the accident, Dad had pulled us each aside,” Annette says to Eponine, glancing at the file. “He knelt down to my level and told me to forget Millicent Fortier, Millicent was dead, and that if I said that name again, I’d be killing all of us. I assume Lucien was told the same thing. He had me repeat ‘Annette Enjolras’ a hundred times. ‘Annette Enjolras,’ ‘Annette Enjolras,’ ‘Annette Enjolras.’ I didn’t know this was why, I was just scared; our father, he never scared us like that before or after.”

Eponine turns to Enjolras, who’s still staring at the concrete. He would have a similar story to tell if he hadn’t lost his memories in the accident. She turns back to Annette, who looks towards her brother with concern. “Annette, do you remember anyone around this time that made you nervous, or perhaps, someone who your parents told you to avoid if you saw them?”

She nods. “One in particular, yes. Dad said if I ever saw him, to take my brother and hide.”

“If she remembers what he looks like, she can probably describe him enough for Feuilly to draw,” Enjolras says, not breaking eye contact with the floor. “See if anyone in your files match the result, or even come close.”

It doesn’t take too long to come up with a possible suspect. Going off Annette’s and Enjolras’ DNA, compared to the blood samples taken from the car, reveals the blood in the car came from two different people. One is similar enough of a match to Enjolras and Annette to belong to their mother. The other, however, belongs to a man Eponine discovered was a hitman for the same group the Fortiers had been involved with, and whose photograph was close enough to a match of Annette’s description to Feuilly, a man by the name of Batamabois.

Eponine takes Enjolras on a long drive to the pig farm where the former lawyer prior to his own name change lived. They find the man standing by the fence, feeding a group of pigs.

“Can I help you?” he asks, turning and setting the bucket down as the pair get out of Eponine’s truck.

Eponine takes out one of her guns out of its holster and points it at him. “FBI, hands where I can see them!”

Batamabois does as he’s told as Eponine directs Enjolras to search him for guns. Enjolras finds three.

“That’s a violation of your parole, sir.” Eponine puts her gun away once Enjolras finishes his search and steps back beside her.

“Might I ask what this is about?” Batamabois asks, hands still raised. “You aren’t my parole officer, and neither is this young man.”

“Anya Fortier,” Enjolras answers, straightening himself and staring him in the eye. “My mother, Anya Fortier.”

The man raises an eyebrow, then smiles and nods. His eyes flicker up and down. “Gabriel Fortier. I should have taken the time to guess. Too much of your father in you.” He tilts his head down, running a hand along an old scar on the top of his head. “I would remember a face who bears similarities to the one who did this.”

With caution, Eponine and Enjolras follow Batamabois to a nearby shed. Batamabois relaxes, turning his attention to Enjolras.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“What happened to my mother,” Enjolras replies. “Her blood as well as yours were found in the family car.”

“Oh, I see,” the man says with a smirk. Eponine feels her skin crawl. “It goes a little like this: your mother and I, we’d run off together, accidentally crazy in love, you see. Plans were to eventually come back and get you and your sister.”

Eponine turns to see Enjolras’ firm façade crack, but he doesn’t flinch as Batamabois continues.

“Then your father finds us, the smart bastard, and attacks us. He hit me in the head, knocked me cold, and when I came to, Anya was gone. My best bet is he took her away and killed her elsewhere. Haven’t seen her since.”

Enjolras gazes downward, his breath wavering.

“If that’s all you’ll be needing, I’ll be getting back to tending the pigs.” He dips his head and exits the shed.

On the ride back to the Lamarquian Institute, Eponine hears Enjolras murmuring in circles. Quiet, then gradually louder.

“My name is Lucien Enjolras. I am a forensic anthropologist at the Lamarquian Institute. My mother is Marianne Enjolras. My father is Raymond Enjolras. My sister is Annette Enjolras. My name is…” His voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath. “I’m…I’m Lucien Enjolras, I’m Lucien…Lucien Enjolras…”

“Easy, easy,” Eponine says, taking one hand off the wheel to touch his shoulder. “You’re all right, you’re alright. He’s full of shit; I don’t believe a single word he said.”

“I’m Lucien Enjolras. I’m Lucien Enjolras…” he continues, eyes staring straight out the front window. “I am a forensic anthropologist. My parents are Marianne and Raymond Enjolras. My sister is Annette Enjolras. I am Lucien, Lucien Enjolras…”

“Enjolras, listen to me,” she says, trying to keep an eye on the road while keeping a gentle voice. “He’s full of lies. You want to know what I think happened? I think he found your parents in that car and he attacked them. He struck your mother with what later killed her, and however your father fought back gave him that scar. Your parents were safe for awhile until your mother succumbed to the sub…subtract—”

“Subdural hematoma,” Enjolras cuts in, breaking his repetitive cycle.

“Yes, until then, and then your father buried her near that cemetery.” Eponine puts both hands back on the wheel. “It explains why your father’s blood was never found in the car, and it explains why his remains were not with your mother. Your father, Michel, Raymond, whichever you think is appropriate, he did as he’s always done: protect his family. You, Annie, your mother, he did what it takes.”

She hears Enjolras take a deep breath, and sees him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you.”

Eponine dips her head. “Now, everything that matches the pattern of healing on your mother’s skull is going to be taken off that farm and analyzed by your team, and they’re going to find whatever it was that lead to your mother’s death.”

“What makes you think he still has it? It’s been years, Thenardier,” he says, his eyes still red. “There’s a lot of things I don’t have that I had five years ago.”

“Because men like Batamabois, they usually don’t get rid of their weapon of choice. Trust me, it’s there.”

“None of these match,” Joly says, looking at the multiple hammers, screwdrivers, and other tools found on site. “Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, and I have been through each of them, and none of them match the healing pattern found on the victim’s skull.”

“I told you,” Enjolras turns to Eponine.

“Hold on.” Eponine walks to the table, observing each of the tools found of the farm. She glances at the microscoped image on the screen. “Do any of you know anything about pig farming?”

Glances shift about the room, some confused while others curious. A few murmurs surface as well.

“He’s a pig farmer; I doubt he’s going to shoot them with a gun if he has to slaughter them,” Eponine states, walking across the floor then directing her gaze to Enjolras. “So tell me: how would he kill a pig?”

Enjolras and Eponine return to the farm with members of the FBI in tow, a few to keep Batamabois in cuffs while others search the entire farm for the specific tool. Enjolras stares Batamabois down, while Eponine’s eyes scan the area as her fellow operatives search around. Within half an hour, one of them approaches Enjolras with a tool similar in appearance to a drilling tool with a blunt tip.

“Thank you, Pontmercy,” Eponine says, then turns to see Enjolras set up the tool and press it against the wooden fence. He pulls the trigger, and splinters of wood fly out from the impact, and when he removes it from the fence, leaves a hole in the wood.

“This definitely could have caused it, even if she was pulled away at the last second as evidence suggests,” Enjolras states, placing the tool in Eponine’s hand. He then turns his head to Batamabois, who appears unsettled by the development.

“Gabriel,” he says with a bit of a worried but pleaful look. “Can you and I talk, one on one?”

Enjolras approaches him, Eponine behind him. She glances around the area.

“I said alone.”

“I’ll be watching from a distance,” Eponine says, turning to Enjolras, then narrows her eyes when she takes a few steps towards Batamabois. “If you do anything towards him that I view as a threat, I’ll shoot you on the spot. And I’ll make the determination of what is and isn’t a threat, say, a hiccup.”

Eponine glances at Enjolras with a nod of confirmation, and takes several steps back, keeping an eye on the two. She keeps herself far enough to just hear the conversation.

“I’ll give you two options, Gabriel,” Batamabois says, staring him in the eye. “You take that tool, throw it down a well as if it never existed, and I’ll tell you all you need to know about Michel Fortier. I go to trial and face prison time, you won’t find out a thing.”

There’s a few moments of pause. Enjolras turns his head, glancing at Eponine then across the farm, then back to Batamabois.

“I’ve found out a lot about my mother without you; I’ll find my father, too.” Enjolras turns and walks away from him and towards Eponine. “I hope he rots in that cell.”

Later that evening finds Eponine, Enjolras, and Annette sitting in Enjolras’ apartment, having a small celebration in solving the death of Marianne Enjolras. Enjolras pulls out a trio of beers and hands them out and keeps one for himself.

“To finding out the past,” he says, holding his bottle out so Eponine and Annette can _clink_ their glass bottles against his.

“And to living for the future,” Annette finishes with a smile.

The glass taps against each other, and the three of them take a swig of their respective bottles. Enjolras walks over to his answering machine, and plays the lone message waiting.

“_Lucien…Lucien, you need to stop looking for me_.” An older man’s voice comes from the speaker, and based on how Enjolras and Annette’s faces go pale, Eponine knows they recognize it. “_You don’t know what you’re getting into. It’s too dangerous_.”

When the message ends, the siblings glance at one another.

“Who was that?” Eponine asks, though a part of her already has a good idea.

“That was…” Annette starts.

“Our father,” Enjolras finishes. He sets his bottle on the countertop. “That…that was him.”

**Author's Note:**

> This got way longer than expected. I actually had to stop myself from continuing on, otherwise, I don't know how much longer this would have been. There might be more to see later if I ever get it down.
> 
> A lot of this is based on the Bones Season 1 finale, "The Woman in Limbo." I've been on a bit of a Bones kick lately, rewatching the show, and this one, as far as I've gotten in my rewatch, stuck out the most, so I attempted a take on it. I've kind of had a Bones AU in my head for years, but this is the first time I've taken the opportunity to write it down.


End file.
